


Love Me Dead

by leontina (Leontina)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Horcrux Tom - Freeform, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Multi, Polyamory, Seer Sanguini, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 12:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12959469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leontina/pseuds/leontina
Summary: Sanguini comes to Hogwarts to teach History of Magic, but finds himself drawn to the resurrected form of a previous lover, and a mysterious boy with eyes the colour of the Killing Curse, who just so happens to be the Master of Death. Meanwhile Sanguini is plagued by visions of Harry in danger, while the threat of a vampire from his past looming ever closer





	Love Me Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clarisse (transnymphtaire)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/transnymphtaire/gifts).



> This was written for my friend [Zim](https://havsgast.tumblr.com) as a birthday gift. Zim created a wonderful backstory for the character of Sanguini which you can read [here](http://havsgast.tumblr.com/sangrites). I used this backstory for inspiration, as well as Zim's general likes--they really got me to love the character of Sanguini <3
> 
> Anyway, this is pretty much rare-pair and rare-character centric, but if you're willing to give it a read then I hope you enjoy it :D

Harry closed his eyes as Voldemort raised his wand. The flash of green still burst through his eyelids as Voldemort struck him with the Killing Curse.

Sirius had been right when he’d said dying was quicker than falling asleep.

When Harry opened in his eyes he was in a ghostly white train station, and Dumbledore was waiting for him. 

He was ready, after listening to Dumbledore, to return to the land of the living and fulfil his destiny in defeating Voldemort. But before he could return he felt a new presence in the heavenly train station, different from the calming aura of Dumbledore or the tragic aura of the suffering soul shard of Voldemort which was trapped in the station for eternity. 

No, the new presence was serene, but powerfully so, and light and darkness in one. Harry turned around, finding himself staring at a man unknown to him but somehow familiar, too. 

The man was tall, impossibly so, towering high above Harry. His skin was as black as an inky night sky, and his eyes a striking silver shade that glittered like stars. A set of sharp, pointed teeth sat between black lips, and on the man’s face was an outline of a skull in a shade of white which glimmered gold. The man was beautiful, far more beautiful than anyone Harry had ever seen, and he radiated strength and power. He was clothed in a black, silk gown, the hood drawn up over his head. 

“Greetings, my Harry,” the man said, bowing his head. “I am Death, and you are my master.”

Harry stared. “I buried the Resurrection Stone. I don’t want to be the Master of Death—I don’t seek immortality, and I don’t want to _control_ you.”

Death laughed, the sound sweet like honey. “You may be my master, Harry, but that doesn’t make me your slave. I simply cannot claim your life as my own, but can take the lives of those you desire me to. Otherwise I am not here to bend to your will, but you have a good and pure heart and I would be happy to walk with you. I can offer you answers and guidance, for I cannot tell a lie, and I can give you what you desire to be happy in your life.”

Death stepped towards Harry, bending a knee and lowering himself until he was at Harry’s height. Harry stared into those dazzling silver eyes, breath faltering in his chest at the powerful, yearning gaze. 

“It’s not right,” Harry said softly, dropping his gaze away from the beautiful face. “To be the Master of Death, I mean; I’m not afraid of dying.”

“Exactly,” Death said, his long, elegant fingers grasping Harry’s chin to tilt his head back up. “And that makes me honoured for you to have that title. You and I can be good together, my Harry. I know you’ve never had anybody to love you completely, or to love you alone. Allow me to love you.”

Harry’s eyes widened as Death leaned forwards and pressed his lips to Harry’s. 

Death’s kiss was like sin, life, wonder, and joy, all at once. He tasted like honey and sugar and everything sweet, and Harry’s eyes fluttered shut as he allowed Death to devour his mouth, falling into Death’s gentle embrace. 

Cold, tender fingers brushed Harry’s cheeks as they pulled apart. When Harry opened his eyes it was to find Death watching him intently, and in that moment Harry knew that, despite his feelings on the Hallows, he couldn’t give Death up—not now that he’d known what Death could truly feel like.

“You desire true love, my sweet one, yes?” Death asked, resting his forehead against Harry’s. Harry nodded and arched up into the touch. “I cannot be with you at all times in the realm of the living, for my time there is limited, but there is one who can be your soulmate; one who can complete you and be with you always. He’s one who’s been part of your soul for a very long time, though no longer. If you invite him back in, he will only bring you happiness.”

Harry drew back in shock, eyes flicking to the broken, wretched form of Voldemort curled up on the floor. Death couldn’t mean…

“I cannot lie to you,” Death said, filtering through Harry’s thoughts. “Deception is a construct for humans and demons, and I am neither. Tom Riddle is destined to bring you love, Harry; take that tragic shard with you from this place of the in-between, and it will bring you both happiness.”

Harry knew, somehow, he could trust Death, and picked up the sickly form of Voldemort. When Harry woke up in the real world, alive once more, Voldemort showed no form of recognition, and Harry felt no pain or heartache when Voldemort’s spell finally rebounded on him and struck him dead. 

Two days later, Harry returned to his home at Grimmauld Place, alone, and found a young Tom Riddle waiting for him on his bed.

\- - - 

Sanguini leant back against the desk, pressing his hands into the hard edges as he surveyed the empty classroom which was now his. 

The Ministry of Magic took the defeat of Voldemort as an excuse to make some changes to the Wizarding World, including improving the education system. Part of the reform was to make History of Magic a required course. 

Sanguini had been surprised when Minerva McGonagall came to him, enquiring if he would be interested in the position of History of Magic professor. She said the previous professor—a ghost—had been _encouraged_ to retire, and she therefore needed somebody who had a good _grasp_ on history.

Sanguini, of course, had lived through most of ‘history’ because he’d been born in the year 315 AD. There were very few who would have such extensive knowledge of history, and out of those few, Sanguini was one of the only vampires who chose to have any sort of association with witches and wizards. 

He did enjoy history, however, so he took the Headmistress up on her offer. Children could make him feel uncomfortable, for he never knew how to act around them, particularly when they were teenagers on the brink of adulthood but not quite there. Sanguini did believe he was at least a competent teacher, and he was happy to stand in front of a class of children to teach so long as he didn’t have to deal with them otherwise. 

Class would be beginning shortly, his first class of the year. The students in the class were the ‘eighth-years’; the students who’d missed their seventh year or had it disrupted by Voldemort and his Death Eaters the previous year. 

Sanguini stepped away from his desk, preparing to write his name on the blackboard, when he felt a familiar tugging at the back of his eyes. He closed his eyes and relaxed his body, very much used to the visions which he’d experienced for centuries, even before he was a vampire.

The vision was dark and blurred, but through the darkness, shockingly vibrant, were bright green eyes which were wide with pain and fear. The boy was knelt on the floor, head bowed, with blood stained hands bound together with ropes around his wrists. A figure, too cloudy to see, stepped behind the boy and hauled him up sharply...and with that the vision ended. 

Sanguini opened his eyes, frowning. The boy had looked no older than eighteen or nineteen, and seemed already familiar to Sanguini somehow. Usually his visions showed people he had connection to in some way, but Sanguini couldn’t recall meeting anyone with eyes so vibrantly green. 

He shook his head to clear away his wandering thoughts as the door to the classroom opened and students began slowly trickling through. Some glanced at him curiously as they passed, others looking with disgust or fear, while others simply trudged up to their table like it was the last place they wanted to be. 

Sanguini paid little attention to the individual students, until a trio strolled through the door, laughing together. It was a girl and with her, two boys, the smaller of which, curiously was wearing leather gloves, had a shock of shaggy black hair on his head, and eyes as shocking green as the Killing Curse which had struck him as an infant. 

So the boy in his vision had been the one that the magical people called the Boy-Who-Lived—it was no wonder he had seemed familiar to Sanguini, for even he knew the boy’s story. What Sanguini couldn’t understand was why the boy had shown up in one of Sanguini’s vision, or more troubling, what could happen for this seemingly carefree child to end up in so much pain. 

Sanguini would pray for him. 

\- - - 

Sanguini’s first week of classes went as well as they could have done. His students were well-behaved, though in the older students that was largely because they believed History of Magic to be a place to nap, while the younger students had taken one look at Sanguini’s fangs and barely dared to utter a word in front of him since. 

There were a handful of students, mostly Ravenclaws, who actually seemed to show an interest in what he was teaching—the number growing steadily over the week. Hermione Granger, in particular, was very attentive and was very eager to start class discussions which only tended to consist of the two of them. 

Sanguini had rather liked having an uneventful week, as they didn’t happen very often. As a result, he wasn’t surprised when he returned to his private room to discover somebody sitting on his bed.

The young man was tall and lean, well-dressed in a smart jumper and trousers. Dark hair that fell in gentle curls framed a face which looked like it had been sculpted in marble by one of the greats. It was truly the face of an angel, with dark grey eyes of a devil. 

“I thought you were dead, Tom,” Sanguini stated softly as the door closed shut behind him. 

Tom’s lips curled in a smirk. “Such a lack of enthusiasm in your voice. I thought you’d be happy to see an old friend resurrected.” 

“Are you resurrected?” Sanguini enquired, tilting his head. “Or am I simply imagining your presence here?”

“I should feel honoured you’d consider me worth hallucinating, Amadeo,” Tom said, and the use of Sanguini’s human name made his heart clench painfully. “However I must disappoint you and inform you that I am very much real. Resurrected is perhaps the wrong word, because technically _I_ was never dead to begin with.” 

Sanguini crossed over to his dresser, opening the large glass door to the cabinet. 

“Wine?” Sanguini offered Tom. “I have red; I know that’s your preferred taste.”

Sanguini had spent many an evening with Tom, a bottle of red shared between them as they explored one another’s bodies and drank in each other’s pleasure. They had been almost-friends and part-time lovers, but that had been fifty years ago and Tom still looked like that twenty-something young man. 

“I believe your story can’t be as straight-forward as most who return from not quite being dead,” Sanguini murmured as he poured out two glasses of wine. Their fingers brushed as Sanguini gave Tom his, Tom’s skin as hot as fire against his own icy touch. “I had a vision of seeing you once more, but I was never enlightened as to how or why.”

Tom swallowed, the lines of his neck moving enticingly. Sanguini could see the thick vein bulging with the sweet blood beneath; he could almost taste the copper tang on his tongue. He took a large swig of wine instead, refusing to let the vampiric urges control him. 

“Were you aware that Voldemort had Horcruxes?” Tom asked. 

Sanguini nodded. “I suspected. I could sense that his soul was not complete, but of course I never asked him. I find it interesting that you refer to Voldemort as if he’s separate from you.” 

“He is and he isn’t,” Tom said. “I was one of his Horcruxes; the last piece of his soul which remains. I was actually attached to the soul of Harry Potter; instead of destroying me, Harry chose to _save_ me and offer me redemption and a second chance at life.”

Sanguini frowned at the mention of Harry’s name. He’d had a second vision of the boy sobbing in pain while blood slid across his lips, though everything else around him had remained dark and blurred. 

“Are you planning on hurting him?” Sanguini asked curiously. Perhaps the visions hadn’t come because of Harry, but because of Tom.

“I’d considered it when I first met him,” Tom admitted. “He was— _is_ — infuriating; he’s stubborn and foolhardy, but he’s somehow sweet. Besides, I’ve since discovered that he and I are soulmates, so hurting him may end up hurting me.”

Sanguini had to smile at the thought of cold, ruthless Tom having a soulmate in a gentle boy like Harry.

“I suppose if your soul was attached to his for so long, it’s no wonder you’ve ended up soulmates,” Sanguni reasoned. “You’re fortunate to have a soulmate; many humans would give anything to find their one true love.” 

Tom’s nose crinkled in disgust. “You know that I have no interest in _love_. You haven’t heard the most interesting part of my tale, yet, Amadeo; Harry has _another_ soulmate and I have to share him.”

Sanguini blinked. He’d never heard of anyone having _two_ soulmates. 

“And you know who I share my lover with? _Death_.”

“Death?” Sanguini repeated, surprised. “I never had the pleasure of meeting him.”

“I have,” Tom grumbled darkly, and Sanguini couldn’t help but smile in amusement; Tom had never been fond of sharing. “Harry is the Master of Death, so their bond isn’t the traditional soulmate but it’s close enough.”

“Is he? All those witches and wizards across the centuries who drove themselves mad in an effort to become the Master of Death, and the Hallows end up in the hands of an eighteen-year-old who wouldn’t hurt a fly if he could avoid it?” 

Tom grimaced. “A waste of ownership, if you ask me. But Death adores Harry and has no intention of letting him go.”

“Can Death touch you?” Sanguini asked curiously. “If you’re bound to Harry-”

“Just like I was never technically dead, I’m not technically alive either,” Tom said. “Death _can_ touch me, but he doesn’t. You, on the other hand…”

Tom stood, and walked gracefully across the room before climbing onto Sanguini’s lap. 

The warmth of Tom’s body was inviting and satisfying, and Sanguini instinctively grasped his hips to pull him closer. 

“Are you not betraying Harry?” Sanguini murmured lowly, his tongue darting out to dab Tom’s lower lip. 

“He told me I could take another lover if I _really_ wanted to,” Tom drawled. “Because he has Death so it’s only _fair_ ; I told you he was sweet. I, on the other hand, am not sweet in the slightest. Care for me to remind you just how _unsweet_ I am, Amadeo?”

Sanguini nodded, closing his eyes in bliss as Tom’s lips finally met his.

\- - - 

Golden hair. Golden eyes. A whip cracking through the air as Sanguini begged for forgiveness; for _redemption_.

His eyes snapped open, breaking him from his nightmare. 

His gaze immediately landed on a figure sitting on the end of his bed, and in a blur of movements Sanguini had flown from the bed, pinning the stranger against the wall with a hand round his throat.

Fear and anger coursed through Sanguini, and it took him far too long to notice that the eyes staring up at him in horror were not golden but emerald, and that his fingers burned from the touch of the boy’s skin. 

Sanguini let go at once, staring at the tips of his fingers before his gaze fell on the boy’s throat and the red handprint marked on the pale skin. He hadn’t been holding that strong to create such marks, surely…

“I’m sorry,” the boy—Harry, Sanguini realised—murmured softly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Nobody should be frightened of you, my sweet,” a gentle, melodic said behind Sanguini. “I, on the other hand, am feared by most, but certainly not by vampires.”

Sanguini turned, finding himself looking at a tall, ethereal figure, with skin of the darkest black and eyes of the brightest silver. His face was painted with golden lines depicting a skull, and though Sanguini had never met the man, he knew he was at once.

“Death,” Sanguini greeted politely. “I never had the pleasure of meeting you before.”

Death chuckled lightly. “Vampirism is considered to be a gift to most, yet you consider it a curse, Amadeo. You and Harry are so alike, resentful of your immortality.”

Sanguini’s eyes flickered back to Harry, who was watching the exchange with a look of guilt still written on his face. Sanguini sighed deeply. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Sanguini said. “But I have been on this earth for almost two thousand years and it takes little to faze me. However I recently had a visit from a friend who I believed to be long dead, and now Death and his Master—who happens to be a student of mine—are in my room despite my aforementioned immortality.”

“I’m not here to claim your life,” Death murmured with an apologetic smile. “I’m simply here to inform Harry of a development, however I’ll allow him to state his business before me.”

Harry frowned quizzically at Death’s words but stepped forwards with forced confidence. The red hand mark was still around his neck, and when Sanguini looked down at his own hand again he found the tips of his fingers a similar shade of red. 

“I really am sorry for taking you by surprise,” Harry said. “I didn’t realise you’d be asleep, and when I saw you were having a nightmare I didn’t know whether I should wake you or not.”

“And I apologise for reacting with such violence towards you,” Sanguini said softly, inclining his head. He found only sincerity and genuine feeling in Harry’s tone, which Sanguini found rather endearing. 

“I just wanted to talk to you about Tom,” Harry continued. “He told me that he’d been to visit you, and that he’d told you everything.”

“Are you angry at me for sleeping with your soulmate?” Sanguini asked curiously. It wouldn’t be a surprise if it turned out that Tom had lied about having Harry’s consent...Tom wasn’t known for his integrity and honesty.

“No, I told him he could, if he wanted,” Harry murmured, glancing down at his shoes and scuffing them against the floor. “I was a little jealous of _him_ , actually; you’re quite, er, you’re quite handsome.”

Even though Sanguini couldn’t make out Harry’s face properly to see his blush, he could sense the blood rushing to Harry’s cheeks, hot and coppery in the air. 

“And how brilliantly that leads into my development,” Death exclaimed; Sanguini had almost forgotten he was there. “You, Amadeo, are a vampire and one of the undead, which means I cannot claim your soul as mine. Harry is the Master of Death, and I warned him long ago that though he could no longer touch the living, and that there would be consequences if he touched the undead.”

Sanguini’s eyes widened as he looked back down at his fingers again, and back to the mark on Harry’s neck. Harry followed his gaze, a mix of uncertainty and eagerness swimming together in his expression.

“Harry’s soul is vulnerable from housing a Horcrux for so long,” Death pressed on. “And because you, a member of the undead, touched the Master of Death and didn’t die, Harry’s soul has taken that to mean you are soulmates.”

“But what about Tom?” Sanguini asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Harry was beautiful, that much was undeniable, with delicate features and a powerful aura. But attractiveness aside, Sanguini didn’t want a soulmate; he’d learned in the past that giving his heart to and putting his trust in somebody else only led to pain. It was one thing to have casual lovers like Tom and others he’d had throughout the years, but a soulmate…

“Tom is his soulmate still,” Death said. “You’ll simply have to share Harry between Tom and myself.”

“It’s okay,” Harry added softly, stepping forwards until he was right in front of Sanguini. Harry was just the smallest bit shorter than Sanguini, and despite himself Sanguini couldn’t help but wonder what Harry looked like with Death, who towered above them all. “I was wary when I learned I had a soulmate, too. But it’s wonderful, once you learn it’s not so bad to put your trust in somebody else. I can teach you, if you’d like.”

“The bond is irreversible,” Death stated. “Harry is a sweet lover, Amadeo; shall we show you?”

Harry’s lips hovered tantalisingly over Sanguini’s in an almost-kiss before he stepped backwards, the warmth of his body vanishing with him and leaving Sanguini yearning for it back. Death curled a long arm around Harry, both of them looking at Sanguini as they waited for his answer. 

Sanguini didn’t want a soulmate, but if it was irreversible there was little he could do. At least his soulmate had a kind soul, and had two others in his life to turn to so Sanguini would be able to step back when anything became overwhelming for him. 

Besides, Harry truly was beautiful. 

Sanguini nodded, watching silently as Death easily lifted Harry into his arms to kiss him.

Death and Harry moved together like a dance choreographed to the finest symphony. Magic wove between them, shedding their clothes and bringing sparks of lust to the air which tickled Sanguini’s skin pleasantly. 

Death’s dark skin contrasted strikingly against Harry’s pale tone, the both of them stunning and ethereal in their own right, and together looking like an artist’s masterpiece. Sanguini found his gaze drawn to Harry’s face, and the way his mouth opened in pleasure as Death pushed between his legs.

The emerald shade of Harry’s eyes was almost hidden as his pupils grew, their inky gaze locked on Sanguini as his face twisted in delight as Death continued to move inside him. 

“Join us, if you’d like,” Harry murmured breathlessly, smiling brightly at Sanguini. “I want you to.”

Sanguini found it impossible to deny such a sweet request, and soon enough Harry had Sanguini’s hard length in his mouth, washing waves and waves of pleasure through Sanguini’s body. 

Perhaps having Harry as his soulmate wouldn’t be too bad after all.

\- - - 

Sanguini opened the door and gracefully stepped aside, watching with mild interest as a red beam of light raced past his head. 

“I hate Seers,” Tom grumbled, eyes narrowing as Sanguini entered the room. 

“And I hate that despite my best efforts, you and Harry have both been able to break past my room’s defences,” Sanguini retorted smoothly. 

“Yes, Harry did make it past your defences,” Tom said bitterly, the reason for his visit becoming clear at once. Sanguini had expected this visit at some point; he hadn’t needed to foresee Tom in his room. “You know, I was displeased when I came to life only to find I had to stay hidden in case my presence _scared_ people, but I reasoned at least I could share the power boost which came with having a soulmate. I never accounted for having to _share_ my soulmate with one person, but now I have to share him with two. I can’t even kill either of you to make Harry entirely my own.”

Sanguini snorted. “You would consider murdering your competition as a valid option.”

“Not so valid when you’re up against a vampire and Death himself,” Tom pointed out. “What were you thinking, touching the Master of Death? What did you think would happen?”

“I evidently wasn’t thinking.” Sanguini shrugged. “Harry took me by surprise. The only reason he was in my room in the first place was to discuss _you_. If you had stayed put, Harry would have never interacted with me in the first place.”

Tom’s eyes glittered dangerously, but Sanguini felt no fear towards him. 

“If it makes you feel better, I wasn’t happy about the situation,” Sanguini added. “Harry’s sweet, and has a delightfully talented mouth, but long-term relationships are… _difficult_ for me.”

“That’s why you and I worked so well together,” Tom agreed. “Neither of us wanted more than physical pleasure and an intelligent mind to converse with. You’re fortunate you’re a vampire, Amadeo; if you were human I’d have slaughtered you by now.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Sanguni said, inclining his head. “Would you like to come to bed with me; I’ll allow you to be rough with me, if you desire.”

Tom’s face broke into a wicked smile. “You’re so proper, even when you’re asking me to fuck you. Harry, on the other hand, begs so prettily, like a little harlot; I can’t wait to have the two of you at the same time.”

Sanguini smirked. “So despite your anger at having to share, you’ve already found a way it can benefit you?”

“Naturally,” Tom said innocently. “Now, you were offering for me to play rough with you?”

\- - - 

Sanguini gently clutched the Rosary Beads in his grasp as he murmured his prayers, hidden in the thriving bloomage of his own personal greenhouse. Professor Sprout had been kind enough to give him the keys to it after she learned of his interest in gardening; Sanguini found the hobby relaxing, and felt a sense of peace amongst the flowers and plants he grew.

It was nice to give life, rather than take it.

“Amadeo?” a curious called out, halting Sanguini in his prayers. 

He slipped the Rosary Beads back into his pocket, sensing Harry’s presence before he approached. Sanguini was coming to terms with what it meant to be a soulmate now; how Harry was effectively _part_ of him. 

And though Sanguini was still cautious, he had found himself growing more and more attached to Harry, who listened intently to Sanguini’s stories from his past, and who had a witty sense of humour which had Sanguini smiling despite himself. He still believed Harry was too _pure_ for him, that he was undeserving of such a good soul, but Tom was perhaps even more undeserving than Sanguini but Tom had none of the same qualms. 

“Hello, Harry; Tom,” Sanguini greeted. 

Tom was standing beside Harry, an arm curled possessively around Harry’s shoulders. Tom and Harry did make a beautiful pair, both pale and dark-haired and rather similar in features though Tom was sharper in face. Tom was taller than Harry, but not impossibly so like Death; they simply seemed to fit together perfectly.

“Hiding amongst your plants again?” Tom asked teasingly, releasing his hold on Harry to step towards one of the flowering vines which had wound its way around the beams of the greenhouse. He prodded it with his finger, smirking as the petals nearby wilted under his touch.

“Can you please not kill my plants?” Sanguini asked politely, eyes unfocusing for a moment as a brief vision flashed through his mind. “And don’t touch that, Harry; it will hurt you very much.”

Sanguini turned to fix Harry with a pointed look, whose hand was hovering just inches above one of the most poisonous plants in the greenhouse. Though it wouldn’t be able to kill Harry, the venom would cause intense pain even to the Master of Death. 

“How did you-?” Harry began to ask. 

“Amadeo is a Seer,” Tom answered, giving Sanguini a knowing smile. “He just had a vision, and I’m rather certain he foresaw you stupidly clutching that poisonous plant.”

Sanguini nodded. “Not stupidly; simply naively.”

“I didn’t know you were a Seer,” Harry said, ignoring Tom’s jab towards him. From what Sanguini had seen of the pair of them, they had quite a volatile but passionate relationship, insults flying between them but somehow said with only the deepest affection. Sanguini didn’t quite understand it, but it worked for Harry and Tom. “Have you always been one, or was it since you became a vampire?”

Sanguini froze. He knew that Harry’s question was innocent, and that he knew nothing of Sanguini’s past, but anger coursed through him, a flash of golden hair and eyes flickering over Harry’s face before switching back to the concerned emerald gaze.

“Amadeo?” Harry asked, concerned. 

Sanguini hissed, baring his fangs. Harry stumbled backwards, hitting one of the worksurfaces, and Tom was on him instantly, stepping protectively in front of his body and shielding it with his own.

“Harry knows nothing of your past,” Tom said sharply. “Do not take your anger out on him, or you’ll not just have me to deal with but Death as well.”

“Get out,” Sanguini snapped sharply, eyes focusing on the pale expanse of Harry’s neck which was straining to look over Tom’s shoulder. The vein was pulsing enticingly, and Sanguini felt his mouth watering hungrily; he hadn’t had human blood for so long. “Leave! Both of you!”

Tom gave him a dangerous look before turning and clutching Harry’s wrist, pulling him back into the winding paths of the greenhouse.

Sanguini found himself falling to his knees, his fingers trembling violently as he ran them through his hair and tugged at the strands sharply. He could almost hear that melodic, taunting voice, telling Sanguini how _special_ he was; what a unique _gift_ he had. 

He reached into his pocket to pull out the Rosary Beads once more, clutching them so tightly his skin burned. Sanguini openly sobbed.

\- - - 

Sanguini knew Harry was at his door before he even knocked, his pleasant, lemony scent and the warm aura of his magic becoming familiar to him now. Sanguini nearly didn’t answer, knowing Harry would just want to talk about what had happened at the greenhouse, but they would have to talk about it eventually and there was no point delaying the inevitable. 

“I do believe this is the first time that either you or Tom has knocked,” Sanguini said as way of greeting. 

Harry smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Nausea and guilt washed over him as he looked at the deep regret and sorrow embedded in Harry’s expression, and as soon as the door was closed behind them, granting them much-needed privacy, Sanguini drew Harry into his arms and held him close. 

Harry sighed heavily, his chest moving slowly against Sanguini’s own still one, and he buried his face into Sanguini’s neck, nuzzling his skin before finally pulling back.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry said, words falling from his mouth quickly. “I had no idea! Death told me a little bit, about _why_ you ended up a vampire but I wouldn’t let him tell me the whole story because it’s _your_ story to tell. But if I-”

“It’s quite alright, Harry,” Sanguini cut it. “You weren’t aware of my past, and now you are I’m sure you’ll be considerate. I also wish to apologise for lashing out at you; I try very hard to keep my vampiric side under control, but when I’m stressed or aggravated it’s much harder to keep it suppressed. How much did Death tell you?”

Harry hesitated for a moment before answering. “He said there was a man who saw your gift and wanted to use it for his advantage, and that you had a difficult life with him.”

Sanguini swallowed heavily. It had been nearly two thousand years since his turning, but the pain of the experience still stuck deeply within Sanguini. However, Harry was his soulmate, and he deserved to know the truth. 

“The man’s name was Felix,” Sanguini stated softly.

“You don’t have to-” Harry began to protest, but Sanguini held up a hand to silence him.

“I want to tell you; there should be no secrets between us,” Sanguini said. “The year was 338, and I was living in a small village in Italy. I had a vision of the village burning one day, and soon after Felix arrived. He was like the sun; beautiful and golden, and dangerous when you got too close. Felix offered me a trade; myself for the safety of my family and the villagers, so of course I sacrificed myself. Felix took me away, baptised me in blood and turned me, and I spent almost a thousand years as a part of his cult, made up of Muggle-borns-turned-vampires who worshipped Felix as a God, who used my visions to fuel this belief. I finally managed to break free and fled, travelling through Europe, though I always had to move on because Felix always found me. I’ve been in England since 1802 and Felix hasn’t discovered me here yet, but it’s my greatest fear that one day he will. Despite the centuries going by, I still carry the scars that Felix left on me, both physically and emotionally, and I react strongly when I’m reminded of him.”

Harry considered Sanguini, looking at him not with pity but with empathy and admiration. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, but I’m pleased you managed to get away from Felix,” Harry finally said. “And thank you for telling me; I know it can’t be an easy thing to share. Do you...can I tell you something about me; something I’ve never told anyone? If you’re going to tell me your past, I want to tell you mine.”

“Only if you wish,” Sanguini said. 

“I know it’s nothing like what happened with you, and I don’t want you to think I can pretend to know how you felt over all those years, but I do know what it’s like to be trapped,” Harry murmured softly. “My aunt and uncle, they...well, they hated magic. They hated _me_. They never told me I was a wizard, but they punished me constantly, sometimes for showing signs of magic, and other times just for existing. They used to lock me in the cupboard under the stairs; I still can’t go into small spaces without panicking. They’d call me names, neglect me, strike me on occassion, but I never told a soul. I’ve certainly not told Tom because I know he’d kill them, and despite what they put me through, I don’t want them to die. I guess a part of me still blames myself, thinking that if I’d just been _good_ for them, they wouldn’t have hurt me like they did. That’s kind of fucked up, isn’t it?”

“Self-blame is a pain I know all too well,” Sanguini admitted. “I’ve carried my guilt for centuries; long enough to know that you, as a child, did not deserve any of the treatment that your aunt and uncle bestowed upon you. You’re correct in your assessment that Tom wouldn’t allow them to live if he knew, and I should warn you that you won’t be able to hide it from him forever.”

“I know,” Harry said softly. “I know. Can you tell me something else about yourself? Something happy?” 

“Something happy?” Sanguini smiled. “I am a brilliant chef, if I may say so myself. Of course Italian food is my speciality, particularly the ancient recipes, but I’ve had plenty of time to perfect my craft. Would you like me to show you how to make pasta by hand? It’s tricky at first, but I find it rather relaxing, too.

Harry nodded, beaming.

\- - - 

Sanguini knelt on the floor, eyes closed and fingers loosely clutching his Rosary Beads as he recited his Hail Marys. 

“ _Áve María, grátia pléna. Dóminus técum_ ,” he murmured, fingers moving along the rosary as he spoke. 

He faltered in his prayer as he was struck by a vision.

It was of Harry again, bound and bloodied, with tears slipping down his cheeks. A hand attached to a hidden figured reached down and clutched Harry’s hair, tugging sharply and making Harry elicit a whimper of pain. The figure knelt down, visible to Sanguini for the first time. The golden haired Felix turned hungry, yellow eyes on Harry, his pink tongue darting out to lap up the tears from Harry’s skin before he used an elegant hand to push Harry’s head to the side and moved his fanged mouth to Harry’s neck.

The vision ended all at once, the Rosary Beads slipping through his fingers and falling to the floor with a soft clatter. Sanguini gasped, jumping his feet with adrenaline coursing through him. 

It had been his biggest fear that Felix would find him once more, but now it seemed Felix would do something far worse—he would find _Harry_.

Sanguini hadn’t informed Tom or Harry of his visions, not wanting to concern either of them, but it seemed that he didn’t have a choice any longer. Felix was too dangerous, and he needed to make sure Harry had a chance. 

Sanguini’s gaze flickered to the fireplace in his room. It was worth a shot, he supposed.

Grabbing a handful of Floo Powder, Sanguini tossed it into the flames and stepped into them once they turned green, calling out, “Pyrites residence.” 

Philemon Pyrites was sat in an armchair, book in hand when Sanguini arrived, and his face lit up in surprise at the sight of him. 

“Amadeo?” Philemon exclaimed. “It’s been a while.”

Philemon was an old friend of Sanguini’s, and like Tom another part-time lover. Amadeo was getting on his years, with streaks of grey finally starting to shine through the red of his hair and in his handlebar mustache. Philemon had worked for Tom many decades ago, and for Voldemort in his first rising, serving as an assistant rather than a Death Eater, but he’d managed to stay out of the second war. 

“I think Felix is getting close to finding me,” Sanguini stated, seeing no point in making pleasantries when there was such an urgent matter at hand. “I had a vision that he’s going to abduct somebody I’m close to.”

Philemon frowned. He was one of the few people who knew Sanguini’s history, and one of even fewer people who Sanguini trusted entirely. 

“Do you want me to see if I can follow him for you?” Philemon asked, closing his book and getting to his feet. “Last I heard he was in France, but I lost track of him several months ago. I suppose he must be getting close to Britain if he’s going to abduct somebody you know.”

“If you could, please,” Sanguini said. Philemon had been keeping an eye on Felix’s movements where he could for decades now, and though the information he could gather was limited because of Felix’s secretive ways, it felt reassuring to have Philemon looking out for him. “Sorry to have to rush in and out like this, Philemon, but I need to check on my...I need to check on him. I don’t know when Felix is going to try and take him, and I need to be prepared.”

Philemon nodded. “Understood. I’ll try and see if I can find out where Felix might have gone and get back to you as soon as I hear anything. I hope nothing unfortunate happens to this man, Amadeo; you sound like you truly care about him. God knows you deserve some happiness after everything you’ve been through.”

\- - - 

Sanguini walked through the halls of Hogwarts briskly, his feet carrying him to the room where he knew that Harry shared with Tom. Sanguini had never been to it before; a student going to a professor’s room could be overlooked, but a professor going to the room of a student was far more noticeable.

If his heart could beat, he was sure it would be racing a million miles an hour. A heavy sense of dread had quickly come over him, nausea bubbling in his stomach and up to his throat, ever since he’d left Philemon’s home. 

The door to Harry’s private room was slightly ajar, and Sanguini felt a further wave of anxiety rush over him at the sight. It was too important to keep Tom’s existence hidden for either of them to be so careless as to leave the door open enough for any student to accidentally catch a glimpse of him.

Sanguini hurried into the room, the door slamming into the wall with the force as to which it was opened. His eyes quickly scanned the room, and for a moment he thought it empty. Then he heard a weak groaning come from the side of the bed.

It turned out to be Tom, who looked slightly battered but otherwise unharmed. Harry, on the other hand, was nowhere in sight, and the dread in Sanguini’s stomach began to turn to sheer terror. 

Tom blinked blearily as Sanguini helped him up, rubbing a hand absently against a bruise which was beginning to form on his pale skin. 

“Amadeo?” Tom croaked, before his eyes snapped open, fully alert all at once. “They took him! They took Harry!”

“Who did?” Sanguini asked urgently. “Who-?”

“A blond vampire,” Tom answered, stumbling to his feet, determined despite his pain. “He came with a band of followers and demanded to know where you were. Then Harry, that idiot, told them to take him and leave me alone.”

“And you let them?” Sanguini cried disbelievingly. 

“Of course not,” Tom snarled. “Unfortunately even I’m not strong enough to fight off several vampires on my own. And don’t try and pin the blame on me! You’re the one they were looking for. Who even are they?”

“Long time enemies of Amadeo,” came the melodic voice of Death. “The Undead have always been out of my grasp, but it appears they’ve found a way to block me from accessing Harry while he’s with them.”

Sanguini blinked. 

“But how’s that possible?” Tom asked, voicing Sanguini's curiosity. “You’re Death and Harry’s your _Master_. Surely you of all people can find him?”

“Not if I was never their intended target,” Sanguini stated, horrific realisation dawning on him. “I was simply a ruse to get Harry to go with them...to get the Master of Death to go with them. Vampires have long searched for a way to slaughter their immortal enemies; they believe the Master of Death can grant them that ability.”

He and Tom both looked towards Death, who simply shrugged elegantly.

“As I said, I am distant from the world of the Undead. If they have such rituals, I am unaware of them, however-” Death paused, fixing Tom and Sanguini with a pointed stare, which sent a chill into Sanguini’s very bones. “None of us are going to rest until we have Harry back, understood?”

\- - - 

Sanguini hadn’t been so unhappy for quite some time. 

Of course, nothing would ever compare to being trapped in a cult, manipulated and brainwashed into supporting a monster like Felix, but though he had spent the last thousand years looking over his shoulder constantly, Sanguini had at least been _free_. 

Having a soulmate in Harry turned out to be less overwhelming than Sanguini had originally thought. Harry was just too damn lovely to distrust, and his kindness was nothing less than sincere. Though Harry was young he had been through a lot in his short life, and was genuinely empathic and strong for it. Being without Harry now was like a stab through the heart, and every moment he was gone was akin to the knife twisting in his chest, only deepening the pain. 

And Sanguini knew better than anyone what Felix was capable of, both through personal experience, and through the visions he had seen of Harry’s suffering. It hurt to think Harry was in pain, and hurt more to know that he was to blame; if he had just acted on his visions _sooner_ …

Tom wasn’t faring much better than Sanguini. Sanguini knew that Tom didn’t experience emotions like most others, feeling either very little or being overwhelmed by them. He wasn’t sure if Tom could love, but whatever Tom felt towards Harry was close enough. 

Tom was full of rage and anger, and took it out on whoever crossed him. He had even snarled at Death for not being able to find Harry, and Death, who’d never had a human yell at him in such a way before, had simply smiled and calmly told Tom to behave himself. 

One time, Sanguini had asked Tom if he’d like to join him in prayer, and Death had had to tear Tom off Sanguini. Tom had screamed about how prayers would do nothing, how asking a make-believe power figure to help was a waste of time, but Sanguini could sense in Tom’s trembling fingers and his shaking voice that he held no true anger towards Sanguini; he was simply a conduit for Felix.

Tom’s words wouldn’t stop Sanguini praying, however. He begged God, every morning and every night, that even if it wouldn’t help a monstrous soul like Sanguini, if he would _please_ save Harry, who was nothing but good and innocent. 

It took five days of continuous searching, with Death travelling the underworld to seek news of vampire movement, and Tom and Sanguini looking through records and skulking through Knockturn Alley in the night, that finally Sanguini’s prayers were answered. 

Philemon emerged through the Floo in Sanguini’s office, a stack of parchment in his hands. The parchment dropped to the floor when his eyes landed on Tom. 

“Tom?!” Philemon exclaimed. “I thought you were dead! Oh, it’s a honour to be in your presence again, Tom, truly. How did you defeat both Death and Age to achieve…?”

He gestured up and down Tom’s form. 

Tom smirked, looking at Sanguini out of the corner of his eye. “You and I will catch up later, Philemon. However as of the moment we are dealing with an urgent situation.”

Philemon nodded understandingly. “Regarding Felix? I managed to discover where his hideout is.”

“Tell us!” Death commanded, appearing in the room without warning. 

Philemon jumped, eyes bulging in alarm. 

“Death is not here for your soul,” Sanguini told Philemon reassuringly. “Felix has taken Harry Potter, who happens to be the Master of Death.”

“Huh,” Philemon murmured, eyes still wide as he continued to stare at Death, hardly noticing as Tom gathered up the parchment from his feet to read through them. “Harry Potter...the Master of Death and with… _Tom_. I don’t expect payment for my assistance, however I would like to be told how all of… _this_ came to be.”

“In time, old friend,” Tom said, clapping Philemon on the shoulder. “Now we have this information, there’s no time to waste. Sanguini, Death; shall we?”

\- - - 

Felix and his followers were hiding out in an abandoned church, a building which had once been beautifully white and pristine, now greyed and cracked with disuse. Vines and weeds grew up the sides of the walls, the wild reclaiming it as its own. 

Death soon discovered he was unable to step through the threshold of the church, whatever had been keeping him from being able to access Harry through their bond also stopping him physically. That left Sanguini and Tom to stage their rescue mission, and though Sanguini was determined to save Harry, he could still feel the fear eating away at him at the thought of having to face Felix again. 

“I won’t allow Felix to take you either, you know,” Tom told him reassuringly. “Though it would be a good way to get rid of you so I get more access to Harry, I know it would break Harry’s heart and I’m not prepared to do that.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” Sanguini murmured, shaking his head in amusement. Tom was a peculiar one, that was for sure. “Allow me to lead?”

Tom nodded, albeit reluctantly, and followed Sanguini as they creeped through the darkened passages of the church. Sanguini silently took out the first guard they saw, their plan to avoid alerting Felix to their presence for as long as possible. 

The guard stirred feebly, but made no move of waking up again. 

Five more guards were taken down, one at a time. The process was slow and frustrating; all Sanguini wanted to do was barge in and rescue Harry, but doing that would only serve to hurt all three of them in the long run. They had to be particular about the way they were going about their plan. 

They made their way up to the first floor of the church, a Disillusionment Charm cloaking them from sight as they stood on the balcony overlooking the main meeting room, a potion Tom had created along with Philemon rubbed into their skin to mask their scents. 

Deja vu washed over Sanguini as he looked down at the room. Harry was on his knees, bound and dripping with blood. He whimpered in pain, writhing against his bindings, and through his heightened senses Sanguini could see the blood-stained ropes digging into Harry’s skin.

And there, behind Harry, was Felix. 

Felix was laughing, looking every part the charismatic leader. He took a dagger coated with black liquid—vampire venom, Sanguini realised with abject horror—and knelt down to slash Harry’s cheek with it. Felix trailed the knife down Harry’s face and forced the blade between his lips. 

“Lick it,” Felix commanded. “Now.”

Harry shook his head, which only made Felix jab the knife further into Harry’s mouth. Harry cried out in pain, spluttering as the vampire venom touched his tongue. 

Tom growled beside him, and Harry’s eyes snapped towards them, widening in awareness before he crumpled forwards, shouting out in agony as the vampire venom entered his system. 

Sanguini glanced towards Tom and reached out to touch his wrist. There were about twenty vampires in the room, not including Felix, but they had planned to be outnumbered; they just had to hope their plan worked.

Sanguini felt Tom leave him, to go and stand round the back of Felix. Sanguini was to be the decoy, because Felix would be entirely distracted as soon as he realised Sanguini was there; that would leave Tom to rescue Harry and use another one of his potions to defeat the vampires. 

It was a lot of trust to place in Tom, and Sanguini struggled to trust. He had no choice though, not if he wanted Harry safe.

He broke the Disillusionment Charm and stood to full height.

“Felix,” Sanguini called down, his voice surprisingly still. “Leave him alone.”

Felix’s golden eyes lit up hungrily as they landed on Sanguini, and an excited murmur echoed round the vampires.

“Sanguini! Our lost brother!” Felix called out, sounding entirely delighted. “Are you here to rescue this pretty human of yours, or to beg me for forgiveness?”

“That depends,” Sanguini said, trying to stall for as long as he could, just as he and Tom had discussed. “Can I do both? Will you let Harry free if you take me instead?”

“We’ll let your little Harry go as soon as he gives us what we ask,” Felix retorted, eyes glittering dangerously. “All this torture, and he still hasn’t broken. I do wonder what vampire venom will do the Master of Death, so I suppose this is an experiment for us all to enjoy.”

His followers laughed dutifully, and Felix basked in their praise, holding his arms out as though their worship warmed him. 

Sanguini saw a flash of silver behind Felix—Tom’s signal. 

“In that case, you want me, Felix?” Sanguini snarled. “You’ll have to come get me.”

Felix never could refuse a dare, or an opportunity to show off his strength. Sanguini swallowed heavily, now at the moment where he had to put his faith entirely in Tom; as soon as Felix was in front of Harry, Tom could act without putting Harry in harm’s way.

Felix had barely made it half-way across the room, preparing to leap up at the balcony, when Tom acted. He threw the potion vial into the centre of the room, the two volatile mixes inside reacting instantly with the oxygen in the air as the glass smashed. 

A heavy plume of smoke began rising into the air, the vampires falling to their knees as the toxic air began to burn their sensitive skin. Sanguini took one last look at Felix flailing in pain, satisfaction washing over him, before backing away from the balcony while Tom guided Harry away in the other direction. 

They reconvened at the front of the church, Tom carrying a whimpering Harry in his arms. Death was upon him instantly, taking Harry off Tom to touch his forehead tenderly. Harry stopped whimpering at once, the sound turning into a low whine as he arched up into Death’s touch. 

Death looked down at Harry affectionately, a small smile on his face. 

“We need to leave before Felix and his followers make it out of the church,” Sanguini stated, glancing cautiously at the ancient building. 

Tom and Death nodded, and together they returned back to the relative safety of Hogwarts. How Felix had made it inside in the first place was a mystery, but while Tom and Death made preliminary safety precautions, Sanguini would talk to Headmistress McGonagall to warn her that vampires had made their way past the defences. 

Later, once they were sure Felix would be unable to make it back in Hogwarts, Death, Tom, and Sanguini sat around Harry’s beside, watching their lover and soulmate rest. Death’s touch had healed most of his wounds, aside from those caused by the vampire venom coated blade. Death didn’t know how the vampire venom would affect Harry—he wasn’t dead, so he wouldn’t become a vampire, and while generally the venom would kill an infected person, it wasn’t possible to kill the Master of Death.

“It must have been difficult for you to face Felix once more, Amadeo,” Death said without taking his gaze off Harry’s face. “I know that Harry will truly appreciate what you did for him, and be upset that you had to through it for him.”

“That sounds about right,” Sanguini murmured, a wave of protectiveness surging through him as Harry moved softly in his sleep.

“And you, Tom,” Death continued. “You proved your feelings for Harry are true today. I never doubted you, but I know Harry feared Voldemort’s influence over you may be overpowering.”

“Voldemort?” Tom scoffed. “His quest for immortality drove him to an early grave. I’ve learned from his mistakes.”

“Yes,” Death agreed. “I’m pleased the two of you are Harry’s soulmates. Not only are you good for him, but his gentle heart has touched two broken souls. Harry is not one who most would consider a good fit for the Master of Death, but I am thankful for him.”

Sanguini couldn’t agree more.

\- - - 

“It really is quite beautiful,” Death murmured. 

“Quite,” Sanguini agreed. “Look at the use of colours, the broad brush strokes.”

“It’s literally of people being murdered,” Harry said plainly. “How does this even entertain people as art?”

“ _Death of Sardanapalus_ is long-adored,” Tom argued, wrapping an arm around Harry and leaning down to kiss his cheek. “You’re simply not cultured enough to appreciate it.”

“We are in the Louvre,” Sanguini pointed out. “And while they have a fine collection of art, galleries in Italy are far superior. Once you’ve got over your bloodlust for humans, Harry, we’ll take you to the most cultural sites in Italy and pretend to be normal tourists.”

Harry was, effectively, half-vampire now. The vampire venom had given him a thirst for blood and small fangs, but he lacked vampiric gifts such as heightened senses and strength, or the ability to turn into smoke. Harry was struggling somewhat with the bloodlust, and spent many an hour sat nursing Sanguini’s wrist—of course vampire blood wasn’t quite as satisfying as human blood. 

The school year had finished, and though Sanguini had enjoyed teaching History of Magic, he hadn’t felt comfortable with Felix knowing where he was. As a result, he had quit his job, and he, Tom, and Harry had chosen to travel across Europe with plans to go further East eventually, aiming for perhaps Tibet or Nepal. 

It didn’t matter where they ended up, though, so long as they were together. The four of them were dysfunctional and a strange group, but they worked together, and more importantly, they made each other happy. 

The Master of Death, a Horcrux shard, a vampire, and Death himself. Four immortals who understood each other like no other. Because of them, for the first time i n nearly a thousand years, Sanguini felt content.


End file.
